


Death Is Only the Beginning

by Brihna



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, MI6 Cafe Challenge, this looks like major character death but it's really not i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 17:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8293642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brihna/pseuds/Brihna
Summary: Submission for the October MI6 Cafe Challenge: O Death





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because I saw the prompt and this little prompt bunny burrowed in my brain.

Q hadn’t been asked to speak.

To the rest of MI6, Q had been Bond’s Quartermaster, his colleague, and perhaps his friend; but nothing more. They did not know of the late nights they had shared in Q’s bed; that what had started as casual sex had evolved into something _else_ that neither had had the courage to give a name to. How they would make love well into the night, or sometimes held whispered conversations until the early morning light, content to simply be in each other’s arms. They did not know Q’s relief when Bond would stumble into his flat, having returned from a mission after having gone dark for too long. To Q. Always to Q.

Until he didn’t.

As Q steps up to the podium, keenly aware of the eyes on him, he anguishes over things left unsaid. Of how the empty coffin behind him will bring him no closure; just as the empty bed torments him during the period between sleep and wakefulness- when he feels a brush of skin against skin that isn’t really there. His hands are surprisingly steady as he lays the paper on the podium, and he lifts his head to allow his gaze to sweep over the congregation, breathing past the tightness in his chest.

“James Bond was many things,” he begins. “Commander, Agent, 007, peer, colleague, friend. He was fiercely loyal to his country and was either the bravest- or the most reckless- agent that I have ever known. I will admit now that I believe the former to be true. Those of you present are here because you knew him in part or in passing as the brilliant yet vexing double-o agent that he was. And while I’m sure you all expect me to carry on about his skill on the gun range or his prowess in the field, I am not here to speak about Commander Bond or 007; but merely _James_. Because James is who he was to me. And James is how I wish to remember him.”

The congregation is utterly silent, and while some faces- including M’s- bare the smallest hint of confusion, others convey a kind of knowing sadness that he had not quite expected. Perhaps more people knew than he thought. But it doesn’t matter now. Q takes a steadying breath as he continues. “James enjoyed having a lie-in on Sundays, and sitting in the park in the early hours of the morning just to enjoy the stillness. He read science fiction novels and was quite skilled at chess. He was also fond of my two cats; and they him- sometimes more than me.” He allowed the barest hint of a smile. “For a man who was known to be lethal with even his bare hands, he was capable of a kind of gentleness that few possess; with the cats when they got themselves stuck atop the kitchen cabinets, with a lost child we encountered at the market. With me. James Bond was many things; a colleague, a friend… and the man I loved. The man I still love. And so to James, my James, wherever you are; if there even is an afterlife and if you can hear me; my greatest regret is and forever will be that I never told you just how much that I love you. And that even now, I don’t want to imagine a life without you. So if there is a God or some other higher power, if miracles can happen, I would ask for one thing. We’ve been down this road before; you’ve always had a talent for resurrection. I would ask that you utilize that talent one last time to fulfill your promise… and come back to me.”

The chapel is silent as this final plea reverberates into the cavernous space, and it is not until a single drop lands on the page in front of him that Q realizes that he is crying. Slowly, without meeting the eye of a single soul present, he steps down from the podium to make his way back to his seat. Moneypenny stands as he returns to his place beside her, tears slipping down her cheeks as she draws him into a hug. It is at this moment, as he returns his friend’s embrace, that the doors at the end of the chapel open.

Q lifts his head as a near audible gasp escapes the crowd, turning to find the source of the disturbance. Suddenly his heart stops.

There, at the doors of the chapel, stands James.

For a long moment, Q stares transfixed thinking that this is it; he has finally cracked. The loss of James weighs so heavily that he has begun hallucinating; his mind supplying a mirage in the appearance of his lover. But the eyes of the congregation are fixed on the same point and he dares to hope. Is this real?

Suddenly, Q finds his feet moving of their own accord, carrying him forward. James’ expression is unreadable as he stares back at Q clad in a lovely wool coat and scarf. His cheeks even seem a bit red from the cold. James begins to move toward him as well, an almost imperceptible limp in his stride.

“Sorry I’m late,” says James, stopping just out of Q’s reach. “But then you’ve always said that I’d be late to my own funeral.”

Tentatively, as though expecting him to disappear at any moment, Q steps forward and reaches out a hand, barely brushing the fabric of his wool coat. He struggles to find his voice. “James?”

Without breaking eye contact, James removes the leather gloves from his hands, dropping them carelessly to the floor. Then he reaches up to capture Q’s hand between both of his, bringing it forward to rest flat against his chest just over his heart.

Q’s breathe releases in a gasp as he feels the solid mass beneath his palm.

“I’m here,” says James, just loud enough for Q to hear.

He doesn’t realize that he is crying until a callused palm comes to rest against his cheek, warm and real as James wipes away the tears with his thumb.

“I’m here.”

This is all the reassurance Q needs and he surges forward, crashing their lips together in a desperate, hungry kiss. His fingers glide through close cropped hair and wander over a broad chest and shoulders as they each steal the breath from the other’s lungs. When they finally come up for air, Q has buried his face in the crook of his neck, breathing in wool and musk and _James_ as he clutches his back, desperate to assure himself that he’s really here.

James pulls back, eyes sparkling as he cups his face between his hands. “Marry me.”

Q’s breath catches in his throat, his hands closing loosely around James’ wrists. “What?”

“I’ve just spent the last two months holed up in a hospital room in Nigeria and for a lot of that time I had no recollection of who I was,” says James. “But I swear, every time I closed my eyes I could see your face. Then it all came back and I’ve had time to think. I don’t want to waste any more time, Q. I love you. And there isn’t anywhere else in the world I’d rather be than here with you. Marry me.”

Q tightens his grip on James’ wrists, seeking the tactile assurance that he’s really here; that this is real. And if his knees are suddenly feeling weak, the action serves to steady him. For the first time in weeks, Q smiles as he gazes into the glacial blue eyes he thought he’d never see again. “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave your thoughts in the comments. :)


End file.
